Chapter 14 : The decent into silence.
Cassir's sharp eyes scanned the ranger as she advanced, taking in every detail of the intruder's appearance. The figure's pink armor gleamed under the dim torchlight, its design sleek and almost regal. The helmet, shaped like the head of a triceratops, gave the ranger an otherworldly presence, its sharp angles and reflective visor hiding any trace of emotion.
Her gaze dropped to the chest piece, where a distinct diamond pattern was emblazoned—a clear symbol of the ranger's allegiance. Cassir's lips curled into a sneer. The sight of it, a mark of the enemy, only fueled her rage.
But then she noticed something else, something that caused a flicker of doubt to seep through her anger. The ranger moved with a certain swiftness and determination, but there was a distinct lack of experience in her posture. Her frame was smaller than she expected, lean and almost fragile-looking.
A child. No older than thirteen, Cassir guessed.
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, her fury faltered. A child? she thought, her mind reeling. They're sending children to fight us now?
But before she could dwell on the thought, a sharp, searing pain exploded in her other leg.
The impact sent her stumbling, and a strangled cry tore from her throat as she crumpled to the cold stone floor. Blood oozed from the fresh wound, pooling beneath her as the pain overwhelmed her senses.
Cassir gasped for air, her body trembling from the agony. She forced herself to look up, her vision blurring as she focused on the ranger. The girl hadn't moved, still standing at the end of the corridor, her bow lowered slightly.
The realization hit Cassir like a punch to the gut. The ranger hadn't aimed to kill her. Not yet. She was toying with her, wearing her down, one precise shot at a time.
Cassir's hands clawed at the floor as she tried to push herself upright, her blood-slicked fingers slipping against the stone. Her rage flared anew, but now it was tinged with something else—fear.
"You..." she hissed through gritted teeth, glaring at the pink ranger. "You're just a child..."
The ranger didn't respond, her silence more cutting than any words. She stood there, unmoving, a predator sizing up its prey.
--
Cassir's body trembled as she clawed at the floor, her blood-slicked hands slipping uselessly on the cold stone. The pain in her legs was unbearable, the burning sensation threatening to consume her completely. Yet her rage burned brighter still, though now it was laced with a sickening undercurrent of fear.
She glared up at the ranger, her breath ragged. The girl hadn't moved, hadn't said a single word. She just stood there, her pink armor gleaming in the flickering torchlight, the bow still loosely gripped in her hand. It was the silence that unnerved Cassir the most, the quiet intensity with which the girl watched her.
"You…" Cassir spat, her voice a venomous rasp. "You're just a child…"
The words hung in the air, a desperate attempt to shatter the illusion of invincibility the ranger exuded. But the girl didn't respond. She didn't flinch or hesitate. Her visor remained fixed on Cassir, unreadable and impenetrable.
Cassir's gaze flicked back to the bow, to the hand that gripped it. The ranger's fingers were steady, unnervingly so, like they had done this a hundred times before. But Cassir knew better. She could see it now, in the subtle stiffness of the girl's stance, in the slight hesitation in her movements.
She's afraid too, Cassir realized, her lip curling in a grimace. She's just a child playing at being a warrior.
But that realization brought no comfort, no sense of hope. Because despite the ranger's fear, she had already proven herself dangerous. Every arrow had been precise, deliberate. The blood pooling around Cassir's legs was proof enough of that.
The ranger finally took a step forward, her boots echoing faintly against the stone floor. Cassir's heart pounded in her chest, the sound deafening in her ears. Time seemed to slow as the girl raised her bow again, the faint creak of the string being drawn taut cutting through the suffocating silence.
Cassir's breath caught in her throat. For the first time in years, doubt seeped into her mind. She thought of Drahvin, of his promises, of the Red's power. Was it all for nothing?
Her fingers curled against the stone as she forced herself to meet the ranger's gaze—or where her gaze should have been beneath the visor. In that moment, Cassir's rage gave way to something far more primal. Fear.
The ranger paused, the arrow aimed squarely at Cassir's chest. And in that silence, Cassir saw something in the girl's stance, something that made her stomach churn.
The ranger wasn't hesitating out of mercy. No, this girl was weighing her options, calculating her next move. The precision of a predator.
Cassir's lips parted, but no words came out. Her mind raced as she searched for a way out, a way to escape the inevitable. But deep down, she knew. There was no escape.
"Do it," Cassir hissed, her voice trembling with a mix of defiance and despair. "What are you waiting for, girl? Do it!"
The ranger's head tilted slightly, as if considering her words. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she loosed the arrow.
The sharp pain of impact ripped through Cassir's shoulder, forcing a guttural scream from her lips. The girl hadn't gone for the kill. Not yet.
Cassir crumpled further onto the floor, the agony overwhelming her. The ranger slowly approached, her every step deliberate, her presence suffocating.
"She's just a child," Cassir whispered to herself, her voice breaking. But even as the words left her lips, she knew the truth. This wasn't a child.
This was a ranger.
Cassir's vision blurred as blood seeped from her wounds, staining the cold stone beneath her. Every breath felt like fire in her chest, and her body trembled with a mixture of pain and fury. Her hands, slick with her own blood, pushed feebly against the ground, but she couldn't rise.
The ranger stood over her now, silent and unmoving. The soft glow of the torches reflected off her Triceratops helmet, casting an almost serene light across her pink armor. The diamond pattern on her chest seemed to mock Cassir, its simplicity a stark contrast to the chaos she had unleashed.
Cassir's lips twisted into a bitter smile as she stared up at the ranger. "You think… you've won," she rasped, her voice weak but still laced with venom. "Killing me changes nothing. The Red… will rise."
The girl tilted her head, her visor gleaming like an unyielding wall. Cassir's blood boiled at the lack of response. Even now, this child refused to acknowledge her, to give her the satisfaction of a final word.
"You don't even understand… what you're fighting against," Cassir spat, her voice growing fainter. Her head lolled to the side, and her gaze fell on the fragments of Lirya's shattered staff. A pang of regret pierced her heart—not for her own sake, but for the failure of the mission, the failure to protect Drahvin's vision.
The ranger lowered her bow slightly, her stance shifting just enough for Cassir to notice. It wasn't hesitation. It was… restraint.
Cassir laughed, the sound wet and gurgling as blood bubbled in her throat. "Mercy? From a ranger? How… pathetic."
The girl still said nothing, her silence cutting deeper than any blade. Cassir's breath hitched as she felt the cold fingers of death creeping closer. Her mind raced, desperate for some final act of defiance, some way to leave her mark.
"You'll… regret this," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Drahvin… he'll finish what I started. He'll… destroy you all."
The ranger's visor tilted downward slightly, as if considering her words. Then, without a sound, she raised her bow again, the string taut with a fresh arrow.
Cassir's heart pounded as she stared down the arrowhead, her mind a whirlwind of fear and fury. Time seemed to slow as she locked eyes—or what she imagined were eyes—with the young ranger.
And in that moment, something shifted. Cassir's defiance wavered, replaced by a strange, almost peaceful acceptance. She had fought, she had bled, and she had failed. The Red would rise, but she wouldn't live to see it.
Her lips parted in a final, faint whisper. "For the Red…"
The arrow flew.
Cassir felt nothing as the world faded to black, her last thought not of Drahvin or the Red, but of the fear in her own heart—the fear that perhaps, just perhaps, the rangers might be unstoppable after all.
--
Drahvin leaned back in his chair, the faint hum of the runes embedded in the chamber walls filling the silence as he observed his council. Each of them played their part, but their individual flaws grated on him in moments like this. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest, his emerald eyes scanning their faces with cold calculation.
Orvin was the first to break the quiet, as Drahvin expected. The man was reliable in his rituals but predictably apprehensive.
"We rely too much on forces we don't understand," Orvin said, his tone tense. "That armor… that thing—what happens if it turns on us? Or if it fails?"
Drahvin's lips twitched, ready to respond, but Lirya spoke first.
"And yet we still fare better than Alistair, don't we?" Her voice was smooth, her hollow eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. She leaned on her staff, its faint clinking against the floor adding an ominous rhythm to her words. "Stripped of his power and executed like a common criminal by the Grey Moot Council. A fitting end for one who let his faith waver."
Drahvin noted the satisfaction in her tone. Alistair's failure had become a convenient topic for Lirya, a means to remind the others of what happened when loyalty faltered.
Orvin frowned, his expression darkening. "The council may have dealt with him, but the Central Plateau's involvement is what concerns me. Their reach grows with each passing day. They meddle in affairs they barely comprehend, and—"
A sharp laugh cut through the room as Cassir entered, her boots echoing off the chamber walls. Drahvin didn't need to look to know it was her. Cassir had a particular disdain for interruptions, even ones as ominous as Orvin's concerns.
"The Central Plateau," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. "A den of bureaucrats and cowards, posturing behind their laws and decrees. They think they hold the world in balance, but all they've done is fatten themselves while the rest of us bleed."
Drahvin allowed himself a faint smile, though he raised a hand to silence her before she could spiral into a full tirade. While he shared her scorn, her emotions needed tempering. "Their interference is irrelevant. Alistair's death only solidifies our path. Let the council and their allies cling to their hollow victories. The Red does not forget, and neither do we."
Orvin muttered under his breath, "I hope you're right."
Drahvin's piercing gaze fell on him. "I am right," he said flatly. "Alistair's downfall was his weakness, his inability to fully embrace the Red. That mistake will not be repeated here."
Cassir smirked, her confidence returning. "Alistair always was a fool. He thought he could reason with the Grey Moot. Reason!" She shook her head, disgust evident in her tone. "They only respect power, and he lacked the resolve to wield it."
Drahvin nodded, satisfied. "Exactly. Alistair's failure serves as a lesson to us all. His faith wavered, and he paid the price. That is the law of the Red."
Lirya's hollow eyes flicked to Drahvin, her voice soft but pointed. "And what of the rangers? Alistair underestimated them, too."
Drahvin's expression hardened, his tone icy. "The rangers are irrelevant. Their defiance is nothing more than the last gasp of a dying order. The Red has shown us their weaknesses, and we will exploit them. Alistair failed because he feared them. We do not fear—we dominate."
Orvin gave a begrudging nod, though his hands curled into fists. "As long as we don't repeat his mistakes, perhaps his death won't be in vain."
Drahvin's smile didn't reach his eyes. "His death was a necessity, not a tragedy. Remember that."
As the conversation shifted to logistics, Drahvin found his mind wandering briefly. Alistair's execution had been brutal, even by the council's standards. They wanted to send a message, and it had been received. But what they didn't know was that the Red demanded a message of its own—a far bloodier one.
Let them have their moment of victory, Drahvin thought as he rose to leave the chamber. Soon, the Red would have its due.
--
Drahvin dismissed the others with a wave of his hand, turning sharply to leave the chamber. His steps were measured, his posture upright, but the faint tension in his jaw betrayed his exhaustion. Even with the Red's power coursing through him, strengthening his resolve, there were limits to the mortal vessel.
The upper sanctum was quiet, a rare luxury within the citadel. Braziers here burned brighter, their crimson flames licking the air with an unnatural vigor, casting a bloody glow across the obsidian walls. Ornate carvings of the Red's victories adorned every surface, their intricate details etched by hands long since turned to dust.
Drahvin ascended the spiral staircase, his boots tapping against the polished stone. The sound was rhythmic, almost meditative, as if it alone held back the weight of his responsibilities.
He reached the sanctum, a modest chamber compared to the grandeur of the others. A single table sat in the center, surrounded by tall-backed chairs draped with scarlet cloth. A simple silver tray held a carafe of steaming coffee, its rich aroma cutting through the air.
Drahvin poured himself a cup, savoring the brief stillness. He brought the cup to his lips, the bitter warmth grounding him. The Red may not tire, but he sure as hell would if he didn't allow himself these moments of reprieve.
As he drank, his mind wandered back to the council meeting. Orvin's concerns were valid, even if his tone bordered on insolence. Drahvin had come to respect the man's pragmatism; it was a quality too often overshadowed by blind faith. Still, there were limits to how much doubt he would tolerate.
And then there was Cassir, their new High Seer. A woman of conviction, though her scorn for the Central Plateau bordered on recklessness. Drahvin valued her loyalty, but she would need to temper her emotions if she hoped to fulfill her role. The last High Seer had met an unceremonious end beneath a cascade of rocks—a fate born not of failure, but of circumstance. Still, it was a stark reminder of how easily the Red discarded even its most devout servants.
Lirya, as always, remained a mystery. She spoke rarely, her hollow eyes betraying no emotion. Her silence unnerved some, but Drahvin found it refreshing. In a world where words often masked intent, her quiet presence was a constant, like the ever-burning flames of the Red.
Drahvin's grip tightened around the cup as he considered the rangers. They had been a thorn in his side for far too long, their defiance both infuriating and baffling. How could they not see the inevitability of their defeat? Their resistance was a testament to the fragility of hope, an emotion he had long since discarded.
Setting the empty cup down, Drahvin straightened his shoulders and exhaled slowly. His moment of reprieve was over. The Red's work demanded his attention, and his plans were far from complete.
As he descended back into the heart of the citadel, he wondered briefly how the others were faring. Cassir, Orvin, Lirya—all pieces on the board, each serving their purpose. Drahvin thought highly of Orvin's rituals and trusted Cassir's sharp instincts, though her ambition needed guidance. Together, they would see the Red's vision realized.
Unbeknownst to him, the sanctum below was no longer the same as he'd left it. Chaos and death awaited him, hidden behind the silence of stone walls and the warmth of fading braziers.
--
The lower levels of the stronghold erupted in chaos as the explosion tore through the stone, the force of it shaking the entire structure. A deafening roar of flames and debris filled the air, followed by the gut-wrenching sound of screams—cries of agony and terror from the cultists trapped below. The lower chambers, where the experiments had been carried out and rituals performed, were now engulfed in flames and ruin.
Up in the upper sanctum, Drahvin stood frozen, his sharp gaze scanning the room, but his mind was far away. The explosion had rattled him, but more than that, it had shaken his certainty. His council was down there, along with the very tools and rituals that had been so meticulously planned. He could not allow his vision to falter now.
But the question remained: what had happened to them?
Drahvin's pulse quickened as he turned to the others in the upper chamber, trying to mask his unease. His command to gather as many loyalists as possible was immediate—there was no time for hesitation. "Move quickly!" he barked, his voice echoing in the now-stifling air. "We need to secure our position, prepare for the next phase. The Red demands our full strength."
Still, his mind could not escape the nagging doubt. The screams below... the sudden quiet... He couldn't afford to consider what it meant just yet.
His thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable, unnatural presence of the Revenant—its towering form emerging from the shadows, its glowing red eyes flickering with cold intensity. As it approached, Drahvin's breath caught, his eyes widening at the sight of Lirya in its grasp. She was barely conscious, cradled in the revenant's inhuman arms, her body bloodied and torn. What truly shocked him, however, was the absence of her right hand. Where it should have been, there was nothing but charred, mangled skin.
Her hollow eyes met his, and for a moment, Drahvin swore he saw something close to regret in them. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a faint rasp escaped.
The Revenant set her down with deliberate care, its mechanical body humming in quiet menace. Drahvin immediately stepped toward Lirya, his heart quickening as he assessed her condition. She had been burned, badly. But more than that, she had been taken down in a way he hadn't thought possible. Lirya was tough—calculating, ruthless—but now she looked fragile, almost human in her vulnerability.
"What happened?" Drahvin demanded, his voice low but laced with tension. His gaze flicked back to the Revenant. "Where are the others? Where's Cassir?"
Lirya's eyes, now glazed with pain, met his, and in that moment, she did not need to say a word. Drahvin could see it in the way she trembled, in the bloodstained ruins of her body, in the utter despair reflected in her hollow gaze. The council was gone. The explosion... it had killed them all.
The cultists, the plans, the experiments—it was all for nothing.
He couldn't afford to feel anything in that moment. Not yet. Not with everything at stake.
But as the reality of the situation settled in, Drahvin felt something else well up inside him: rage. They had underestimated the rangers. They had all underestimated their power, their ability to infiltrate, to strike when least expected. The rangers had made a grave mistake, and Drahvin would make sure they paid for it.
"We'll rebuild," Drahvin muttered under his breath, his voice hardening. "We'll rebuild, and we will make them suffer."
Lirya's breathing was shallow, her face pale, and the blood pooling around her was a testament to the severity of her injuries. But she smiled faintly, almost as if the pain didn't matter.
"You… you were right," she whispered hoarsely, her words barely audible. "They know… they know we are weak now."
Drahvin's lips twisted into a grim smile. "Let them think that. We will show them otherwise."
The Revenant stood still, waiting for instructions, while Drahvin turned his attention to organizing the remaining forces. They would regroup, they would plan, and they would take their revenge.
For now, the only thing left was survival.
Drahvin's mind raced as he surveyed the damage in the upper sanctum. The loss of the council—his most trusted allies—was a blow he hadn't expected. His fingers clenched into fists as the weight of their demise settled on him. Yet, despite the overwhelming sense of loss, he knew one thing: survival was paramount. The Red had chosen them for a reason. They had a purpose, and no explosion, no failure, would erase that.
His gaze flicked back to Lirya, who was now barely conscious. Her breathing was ragged, the faint rasp of her breath filling the room. He could see the desperate will in her eyes, the refusal to surrender, but the toll of her injuries was undeniable. She was hanging on by a thread.
"Get her to medical," Drahvin ordered, his voice colder than ice. The Revenant didn't hesitate. It turned and began to carry Lirya towards the back of the sanctum, where the makeshift medical bay awaited.
Drahvin didn't watch them go. His thoughts were already turning to the next step. They would need to regroup. Strength was their only option now. He turned to the remaining cultists, who had gathered in the chamber after the blast, their faces a mix of shock and fear. They had been expecting something catastrophic, but not this. Their confidence, bolstered by the success of their previous schemes, had evaporated in the face of the rangers' unexpected assault.
"Listen to me," Drahvin's voice cut through the murmur of unease. "The council is gone, but we are still here. The Red has not forsaken us. We will rebuild. We will adapt. And we will destroy the rangers."
The cultists exchanged glances, some hesitant, others eager to believe, but none daring to voice their doubts aloud. They had seen what happened to those who questioned Drahvin.
"Organize yourselves," Drahvin continued. "We are not beaten yet. Prepare for an offensive. We will find their weaknesses, and we will exploit them."
He turned sharply, heading toward the inner chamber where their most powerful artifacts were stored. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the arcane tools and relics that had been meant for rituals to empower the Red. They would need every advantage they could muster.
As he moved through the sanctum, he couldn't shake the nagging thought of Cassir. Where was she? Was she even alive? The thought of her being gone filled him with a rare uncertainty, but he pushed it aside. He would focus on what was in front of him, and Cassir would either return or she wouldn't. Their mission had to remain the priority.
His hand brushed against the smooth, cold surface of the Red artifact—an ancient relic, the source of their power. The Red had granted them its strength, but that power came with a price. He would find the strength to carry on, to honor the path they had chosen.
His attention snapped back to the present as a sharp noise echoed through the hall—a sudden, heavy thud of footsteps. The Revenant returned, its form towering in the dim light, its face still obscured by the shadows of its helmet. Lirya was gone from its arms now, but the air around it was thick with a sense of urgency.
"Report," Drahvin commanded, not even bothering to look at the Revenant.
Its voice, deep and unnatural, filled the room. "Lirya has been stabilized. She will survive, but she will need time. Her right hand was lost beyond recovery, and the damage to her body is extensive."
Drahvin nodded sharply, the absence of Lirya's hand a grim reminder of the cost they had paid. Still, she was alive. They would have to make do without her for now.
"Where is Cassir?" Drahvin asked, his voice tight, a slight edge of impatience creeping in.
The Revenant tilted its head, a subtle motion that almost seemed like confusion. "Cassir is unaccounted for. There is no sign of her in the lower levels. No bodies recovered."
Drahvin's chest tightened. Cassir was resourceful, yes, but the odds of her surviving the explosion… He could feel a flicker of anger, and with it, a bitter realization. If she was dead, it was a failure he couldn't afford.
"Very well," Drahvin muttered, pushing the thought from his mind. "We will continue as planned. Assemble a strike force. We are going after the rangers, with or without Cassir."
He knew they were not the only ones in this battle. The rangers were formidable, and they had allies. But they had their own strength, the strength of the Red, and that would be enough.
"We will rebuild," Drahvin repeated, more to himself than to anyone else. "And when we strike, we strike as one."
The Revenant did not respond, but it gave a single, sharp nod before disappearing into the shadows once more, likely to prepare for the next phase. Drahvin stood alone now, his thoughts once more turning inward. The destruction of the council, the fall of Alistair, the explosion—it was all a setback. But they had faced setbacks before. And like the Red, they would rise from the ashes.
The battle was far from over. The rangers had made a mistake thinking they had won. Drahvin's smile twisted, a cold, calculating expression. He would make them regret it.
--
Drahvin's plans continued to churn in his mind, the weight of their current situation pressing heavily on him. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the sanctum, but he didn't immediately react. His thoughts were focused on the next strike—on taking down the rangers and finally putting an end to the interference that had been plaguing them. However, that focus faltered when a sharp, piercing sound sliced through the air.
A whistling, the unmistakable sound of an arrow, cut through the tension like a knife.
Drahvin's reflexes kicked in at the last moment, and he twisted his head just as the arrow whizzed past him, grazing the side of his face. His hand instinctively reached up, fingers brushing against the jagged edge of his ear where the arrow had narrowly missed, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. The pain was sharp but momentary, and the adrenaline surged in response. The threat wasn't over—he could feel it, even before his mind fully processed what had happened.
The Revenant, seemingly always aware, moved to intercept. But it was too slow. Another arrow flew toward him, its trajectory deadly and sure. This time, Drahvin was unprepared, still too disoriented by the first attack to evade the second.
The arrow sped through the air with blinding speed, a lethal force aimed straight for his throat. If it connected, it would be the end of him. His heart raced as time seemed to slow, and the world around him narrowed to the single point where the arrow would strike.
But before he could even move, something else intervened.
A cultist—a younger one, probably not even trained in combat—threw themselves in front of Drahvin, a desperate act of heroism, or perhaps panic. The arrow plunged into the cultist's chest with a sickening thud, knocking them back and to the ground with a wet, dying gasp.
The moment of chaos was all it took for Drahvin to regain some semblance of control. The realization that he had almost lost his life in such a sudden, brutal manner sent a ripple of shock through his system. But there was no time for hesitation. The cultist's sacrifice would not be in vain.
"Get down!" Drahvin shouted, pushing the dead cultist's body out of his path as he sprinted toward the cover of a nearby pillar. His heart thundered in his chest, and his breaths came in ragged gasps.
He turned his gaze upward toward the source of the attack, and there, standing on the edge of the platform, he saw her. The lone ranger. Her form was small but undeniably dangerous. Drahvin's eyes narrowed as he studied her, the realization crashing into him like a cold wave.
This wasn't just a random attack.
The girl was alone. There was no squad, no backup. Just one ranger.
The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Her weapon, a bow—each shot calculated, each one precise, designed to kill. It wasn't just any ranger. She was different. There was something about her that made Drahvin feel a twinge of uncertainty, a sensation he was not accustomed to.
Without missing a beat, he raised his hand and gestured to his remaining cultists, his voice cutting through the fear that had begun to settle in the air.
"Form up! Get to cover! We will eliminate her, now!"
His command was swift, but his mind couldn't stop racing. Where are the others? Why is she here alone?
As if on cue, the world around them shook with a deep, resounding tremor—an explosion, far below, rocked the sanctum. The walls creaked and groaned, dust falling from the ceiling as the battle on the lower levels reached a fever pitch. For a moment, Drahvin's attention wavered, the chaos below threatening to distract him from the more immediate threat.
But then he snapped back to reality as the ranger notched another arrow, her eyes focused intently on him. His breath caught in his throat.
She's going to fire.
Without thinking, Drahvin sprang into action, his senses heightening, his movements sharp and precise. He moved to the side, dodging just in time as another arrow whistled past, narrowly avoiding his torso. The ranger's skill was undeniable. He couldn't allow himself to underestimate her.
She was small, but her speed, her precision—it was clear she was trained to fight.
Drahvin's mind raced. If this was all the rangers had left, then they had underestimated the strength of his cult. But the question remained—where were the others? Why had the rangers sent only one?
Before he could ponder further, the ranger drew back her bow again, releasing another arrow. This one, aimed directly at his heart.
Drahvin reacted instantly, pushing a nearby cultist into the path of the arrow. The arrow slammed into the cultist's chest, the impact bone-shattering. The cultist crumpled to the ground, their body lifeless before it even hit the stone floor. Drahvin barely registered the loss.
But the ranger was relentless. She wasn't just fighting to survive; she was hunting, seeking to eliminate them one by one. She didn't care about the losses; she only cared about the kill.
A familiar voice echoed in the distance, a frantic shout that reached Drahvin's ears even as his focus remained on the ranger.
"Drahvin! We need to fall back! The explosion… they're coming for us!"
It was too late to retreat. Drahvin knew that now.
With his mind focused, he stepped out from his cover and into the open, facing the ranger head-on. It was time to take control.
"I will end this now," Drahvin muttered under his breath.
Before he could make his next move, however, another arrow streaked through the air, this time aimed directly for his chest. Drahvin's reflexes were sharper than ever, but the damage from the previous attacks had slowed him just enough. The arrow was mere inches from his heart when suddenly, the Revenant emerged from the shadows.
With a swift, unnatural motion, the Revenant caught the arrow in midair, its skeletal fingers snapping it in half with ease. The ranger's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly recovered, readying another arrow.
But Drahvin could feel the tide turning. The ranger was growing more desperate. She knew she couldn't win this fight alone.
And that, in itself, was the crack in her armor. The very thing that would bring her down.